James Harvey Kidd

THE BATTLE OF CEDAR CREEK

The engagement which took place in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, on the nineteenth day of October, 1864, will take its place high up in the list of the decisive battles of history. Like Blenheim and Balaklava, Cedar Creek will be remembered while literature lasts. One of its dramatic incidents furnished the theme for the poet's song, and "Sheridan's Ride," like Horatius, will remain until the imagination can no longer be thrilled by the recital of the record of heroic deeds. Thus doth poesy erect monuments, more enduring than bronze or marble, to the memory of the brave.

Yet, the events of that day have been greatly misconceived.[37] The imagination, inflamed by the heroic verse of Read, and unaided by the remembrance of actual personal experiences in the battle, sees only the salient points—Gordon's stealthy march along the Massanutten mountain; the union troops, in fancied security, sleeping in their tents; the absence of their great leader; the morning surprise; the rout; the mass of fleeing fugitives; the victors in exultant pursuit; Sheridan's ride from Winchester; the magic influence of his arrival on the field, in arresting the headlong flight of the panic stricken mob; the rally; the reflux tide of enthusiasm; the charge back into the old camps; the glorious victory that succeeded humiliating defeat.

With all due allowance for poetical license, the conception of this battle which long ago became fixed in the public mind, does a cruel injustice to the gallant men who were maimed or killed on that hard fought field. Enveloped in the mists of receding years; obscured by the glamour of poetry; belied by the vivid imagination of stragglers and camp-followers who, on the first note of danger, made a frantic rush for Winchester, seeking to palliate their own misconduct by spreading exaggerated reports of disaster, the union army that confronted Early at Cedar Creek, for many years made a sorry picture, which the aureole of glory that surrounded its central figure made all the more humiliating.

It is due to truth and justice that every detail of that famous fight should be told, to the end that no undeserved shadow may rest upon the fame of the men and officers who took part in it—no unjust stain upon their record.

History, so called, has been misleading. It is true that Sheridan's narrative sheds much new light upon his part in the battle, and General Merritt, one of the leading actors, wrote a paper upon it for the Century series though I doubt if it has been generally read, or if read, effective in modifying preconceived notions. An idea of that which has been written in the name of history may be gained from an extract taken from the American cyclopedia (vol. xvi) which says:

"He (Sheridan) met the fugitives a mile and a half from town, (Winchester), and with a brigade which had been left in Winchester, moved upon the enemy, who had begun to intrench themselves."

The absurdity of such "history" ought to be self evident. Imagine, if you can, a brigade of infantry following Sheridan on his wild ride of "twenty miles" and then rushing to attack an army which, according to the tradition of which I have spoken, had just whipped four army corps. Of course, the statement is an absurd one. No brigade came from Winchester. No brigade could have come from Winchester; and had such a thing been possible, it would have constituted but a slight factor in the contest.

There were in the federal army on that eventful morning, seven brigades of infantry (the Sixth corps) seven brigades of cavalry, not to mention one division (Grover's) of the Nineteenth corps, (four brigades), making eighteen brigades in all, that were neither surprised in their camps, nor in the slightest degree demoralized at any time during the progress of the battle; and which had forced Early to stop short in his headlong career of victory long before the famous black charger brought his fiery rider to the field. The Eighth corps which was surprised was a small corps of only five brigades, and although after Kershaw's onset, conducted by General Early in person, it was practically eliminated, there was a fine army left which, crippled as it was, was fully equal to the task of retrieving the disaster, and which, as the event proved, needed only the guiding hand of Sheridan to put it in motion and lead it to victory.

It is not, however, the purpose of this paper to give all the details of that great battle, but to narrate what a single actor in it saw; to make a note in passing of some things that do not appear in the official records, that are not a part of the written history of the war; some incidents that are important only as they throw light on that which is bathed in shadow, though having for one of Custer's troopers an interest in themselves; to do justice to the splendid courage displayed by the cavalry, especially the Michigan cavalry, on that occasion; to pay a tribute of admiration to the gallantry and steadfastness of the old Sixth corps; and to the courage and capacity of the gallant Colonel Lowell, who was killed.

Cedar Creek is a small stream that rises in the Blue Ridge, runs across the valley, at that point but four miles wide, and pours its waters into the Shenandoah near Strasburg. It is very crooked, fordable, but with steep banks difficult for artillery or wagons, except where a way has been carved out at the fords. It runs in a southeasterly course, so that its mouth is four miles or more south of a line drawn due east from the point where it deserts the foot-hills on the west side of the valley. The valley, itself, is shut in between the Blue mountains, on one side, and the Massanutten, a spur of the Great North mountain, on the other. It is traversed, from north to south, by a turnpike road, a little to the left of the center, which road crosses Cedar Creek between Middletown and Strasburg.

On the night of October 18, 1864, the federal army was encamped on the left bank of Cedar Creek, Crook's Eighth corps on the left flank, east of the pike and nearly in front of Middletown; Emory's Nineteenth corps to the right and rear of Crook and west of the pike; then, successively, each farther to the right and rear, the Sixth corps, temporarily commanded by General James B. Ricketts; Devin's and Lowell's brigades of Merritt's (First) cavalry division; the Michigan cavalry brigade; and last, but not least, Custer with the Third cavalry division. All faced toward the south, though posted en echelon, so that, though Crook was some three or four miles south of Middletown, a line drawn due east from Custer's camp, intersected the pike a little north of that place. For this reason, Early's flanking movement, being from the left through the camp of Crook, could not strike the flank of the other corps, successively, without shifting the line of attack to the north, while the Sixth corps and the cavalry were able to confront his troops, after their first partial success, by simply moving to the left, taking the most direct route to the turnpike. The position which the Michigan cavalry occupied was somewhat isolated. Although belonging to the First division, it was posted nearer the camp of the Third.

The brigade consisted of the four Michigan regiments and Captain Martin's Sixth New York independent horse battery. The First Michigan was commanded by Major A.W. Duggan, a gallant officer who was wounded at Gettysburg; the Fifth by Major S.H. Hastings; the Sixth by Major Charles W. Deane; the Seventh by Lieutenant Colonel George G. Briggs, the latter officer having only just been promoted to that position. The New York battery had been with us but a short time, but Captain Martin and his lieutenants ranked among the best artillery officers in the service.

For a few days, only, I had been in command of the brigade. General Custer, who had led it from the time he was made a brigadier, in June, 1863, was promoted to the command of the Third division and, hastily summoning me, went away, taking his staff and colors with him. I was obliged while yet on the march, to form a staff of officers as inexperienced as myself. It was an unsought and an unwelcome responsibility.

For two or three days before the battle, our duty had been to guard a ford of Cedar Creek. One regiment was kept constantly on duty near the ford. The line of videttes was thrown out across the stream, connecting on the left with the infantry picket line and on the right with Custer's cavalry pickets. The Seventh Michigan was on duty the night of October 18, the brigade camp back about a mile from the ford.

No intimation of expected danger had been received—no injunction to be more than usually alert. It was the habit of the cavalry, which had so much outpost duty to perform, to be always ready, and cavalry officers were rarely taken by surprise. Early's precautions had been carefully taken and no hint of his purpose reached the union headquarters, and no warning of any immediate or more than usually pressing danger was given to the army.

But, somehow, I had a vague feeling of uneasiness, that would not be shaken off. I believe now and have believed, for many years, that there was in my mind a distinct presentiment of the coming storm. I could not sleep and at eleven o'clock, was still walking about outside the tents.

It was a perfect night, bright and clear. The moon was full, the air crisp and transparent. A more serene and peaceful scene could not be imagined. The spirit of tranquility seemed to have settled down, at last, upon the troubled Shenandoah. Far away, to the left, lay the army, wrapped in slumber. To the right, the outlines of the Blue mountains stood out against the sky and cast dark shadows athwart the valley. Three-quarters of a mile away the white tents of Custer's camp looked like weird specters in the moonlight. Scarcely a sound was heard. A solemn stillness reigned, broken only by the tread of the single sentry, pacing his beat in front of headquarters. Inside, the staff and brigade escort were sleeping. Finally, a little before midnight, I turned in, telling the guard to awaken me at once, should there be firing in front, and to so instruct the relief.

I cannot give the exact time; it may be I did not know it at the time; but it was before daylight that the sentinel awoke me. Not having undressed, I was out in an instant, and listening, heard scattering shots. They were not many, but enough to impel me to a quick resolve. Rousing the nearest staff officer, I bade him have the command ready to move at a moment's notice.

In an incredibly short space of time, the order was executed. The tents were struck, the artillery horses attached to the gun carriages and caissons, and the cavalry horses saddled. No bugle call was sounded. The firing grew heavier, and from the hill where Custer was, rang out on the air the shrill notes of Foght's bugle, telling us that our old commander had taken the alarm. Rosser had attacked the pickets at the fords and was driving them in. He had done the same on one or two mornings before, but there was an unwonted vigor about this attack that boded mischief. The federal cavalry had, however, recovered from their earlier habit of being "away from home" when Rosser called. They were always "in" and ready and willing to give him a warm reception. He found that morning that both Merritt and Custer were "at home." In a moment, a staff officer from General Merritt dashed up with orders to take the entire brigade to the support of the picket line. Moving out rapidly, we were soon on the ground. The Seventh Michigan had made a gallant stand alone, and when the brigade arrived, the enemy did not see fit to press the attack, but contented himself with throwing a few shells from the opposite bank which annoyed us so little that Martin did not unlimber his guns.

lowell

CHARLES R. LOWELL

A heavy fog had by this time settled down upon the valley. The first streaks of dawn began to appear, and it soon became evident that the cavalry attack upon the right flank was but a feint and that the real danger was in another quarter. Far away to the left, for some time, volleys of musketry had been heard. With the roll of musketry was intermingled, at intervals, the boom of cannon, telling to the practiced ear, the story of a general engagement. The sounds increased in volume and in violence, and it was no difficult matter to see that the union forces were falling back for, farther and farther to the left and rear, were heard the ominous sounds. From the position we occupied no infantry line of battle was to be seen.

Soon after the Michigan brigade had taken its position at the front, Colonel Charles R. Lowell rode up at the head of the Reserve brigade. Colonel Lowell was a young man, not much past his majority, and looked like a boy. He was a relative of James Russell Lowell, and had won distinction as colonel of the Second Massachusetts cavalry. He had succeeded Merritt as commander of the Reserve brigade. He had a frank, open face, a manly, soldierly bearing, and a courage that was never called in question. He was a graduate of Harvard, not of West Point, though he had been a captain in the Sixth United States cavalry.

Colonel Lowell informed me that his orders were to support the Michigan men if they needed support. No help was needed at that time. I told him so. The enemy had been easily checked and, at the moment, had become so quiet as to give rise to the suspicion that he had withdrawn from our front, as indeed he had. A great battle was raging to the left, and in response to the suggestion that the army seemed to be retreating, he replied:

"I think so," and after a few moments reflection, said:

"I shall return" and immediately began the countermarch.

I said to him: "Colonel, what would you do if you were in my place?"

"I think you ought to go too" he replied and, presently, turning in his saddle, continued: "Yes, I will take the responsibility to give you the order," whereat, the two brigades took up the march toward the point where the battle, judging from the sound, seemed to be in progress. How little either of us realized that Lowell was marching to his death. It was into the thickest of the fight that he led the way, Michigan willingly following.[38]

A startling sight presented itself as the long cavalry column came out into the open country overlooking the battle-ground. Guided by the sound, a direction had been taken that would bring us to the pike as directly as possible and at the same time approach the union lines from the rear. This brought us out on a commanding ridge north of Middletown. This ridge as it appears to a participant looking at it from memory, runs to and across the pike. The ground descends to the south a half mile, or more, then gradually rises again to another ridge about on a line with Middletown. The confederate forces were on the last named ridge, along which their batteries were planted, and their lines of infantry could be seen distinctly. Memory may have lost something of the details of the picture, but the outlines remain as vivid, now as then. The valley between was uneven, with spots of timber here and there and broken into patches by fences, some of them of stone.

The full scope of the calamity which had befallen our arms burst suddenly into view. The whole battle field was in sight. The valley and intervening slopes, the fields and woods, were alive with infantry, moving singly and in squads. Some entire regiments were hurrying to the rear, while the confederate artillery was raining shot and shell and spherical case among them to accelerate their speed. Some of the enemy's batteries were the very ones just captured from us. It did not look like a frightened or panic stricken army, but like a disorganized mass that had simply lost the power of cohesion. A line of cavalry skirmishers[39] formed across the country was making ineffectual efforts to stop the stream of fugitives who had stolidly and stubbornly set their faces to the rear. Dazed by the surprise in their camps, they acted like men who had forfeited their self-respect. They were chagrined, mortified, mad at their officers and themselves—demoralized; but, after all, more to be pitied than blamed.

But all these thousands, hurrying from the field, were not the entire army. They were the Eighth corps and a part of the Nineteenth only, a fraction of the army. There, between ourselves and the enemy—between the fugitives and the enemy—was a long line of blue, facing to the front, bravely battling to stem the tide of defeat. How grandly they stood to their work. Neither shot nor shell nor volleys of musketry could break them. It was the old Sixth corps—the "ironsides" from the Potomac army, who learned how to fight under brave John Sedgwick. Slowly, in perfect order, the veterans of the Wilderness and Spottsylvania were falling back, contesting every inch of the way. One position was surrendered only to take another. There was no wavering, no falling out of ranks, except of those who were shot down. The next morning, one passing over the ground where those heroes fought, could see where they successively stood and breasted the storm by the dead men who lay in line where they had fallen. There were two or three lines of these dead skirmishers. The official record shows that the Sixth corps on that day lost 255 men killed and 1600 wounded.

The two brigades had reached a point where the entire field was in view, and were in position to resume their relation to the line of battle, whenever the scattered fragments of the army could be assembled and formed for an organized resistance to the enemy.

In the meantime it had been decided to mass all the cavalry on the left of the line, opposite to where it had been in the morning. The order came from General Merritt to continue the march in that direction, and the long column led by Lowell turned its head toward the left of the Sixth corps[40] and formed on the other side of the pike. Moving across, parallel with the line which had been taken up by that corps, the cavalry was exposed to a galling fire of artillery. One shell took an entire set of fours out of the Sixth Michigan. Not a man left the ranks. The next set closed up the gap. Custer was already there, having been transferred from right to left while the two brigades of the First division were out on the picket line. Crossing the pike, we passed in front of his division. It was formed in line of brigades, each brigade in column of regiments, mounted. It is needless to say that they were faced toward the enemy. Custer, himself, was riding along the front of his command, chafing like a caged lion, eager for the fray. Devin, with Taylor's battery had been there for some time and, under the personal direction of General Merritt, had been most gallantly resisting the advance of the victorious enemy. The Michigan brigade took position in front of Custer, Martin's battery next the pike. Lowell with the Reserve brigade was stationed still farther in advance toward Middletown. The Sixth corps made its final stand on the prolongation of the cavalry alignment and from that moment the attacks of the enemy were feeble and ineffective, the battle resolving itself, for the time being, into an artillery duel in which Martin's battery took a prominent part.

It could not have been much later than nine o'clock when the two brigades of cavalry arrived. Their coming was opportune. Who can say how much it had to do in stopping the further progress of Early's attack? It is now known that Early dreaded a flanking movement by the body of horse which he saw massing in front of his right flank. The gallant Lowell, who so bravely did his duty and who exhibited in every stage of the battle the highest qualities of leadership, a few hours after his arrival on the left laid down his life for the cause he so valiantly served. He was killed by a bullet from the gun of a sharpshooter in Middletown. He did not live to make a report and the story never has been told officially of how he marched from right to left at Cedar Creek.

Sheridan had not yet come up, but after his arrival, which he states in his memoirs was not later than ten o'clock, Custer was moved to the right flank, arriving in time to thwart a threatened flanking movement by Gordon and Kershaw. It is evident that every strategic attempt of the enemy, save the morning surprise, was checkmated by the union cavalry and, it must be remembered, that it was the absence of cavalry on the left which rendered the morning surprise possible.

The First division was now all together with General Merritt personally in command. A part of Lowell's brigade, dismounted, was posted well to the front, the Michigan brigade, mounted, in its rear. While in this position, having occasion to ride up into the battery to speak to Captain Martin, a sharpshooter in Middletown took a shot at us. The bullet narrowly missed the captain and buried itself in my horse's shoulder. Unlike the shell at Winchester, this wound disabled the old fellow, so that he had to go to the rear and give way to a temporary remount,—furnished by the commanding officer of the First Michigan,—much to the regret of the old hero, for he was a horse who loved the excitement of battle and relished its dangers.

Thus, for perhaps an hour (it may have been more) we stood in line inviting attack. But the enemy, strongly posted behind fences and piles of logs, with two ravines and fences separating us, seemed anxious to "let well enough alone." Then Merritt rearranged his line. Devin's brigade was posted next the pike, Lowell in the center, the Michigan brigade on the extreme left. Martin's battery took position in an orchard, on a rising point, which commanded the entire front and sloped off to the rear, so that only the muzzles of the pieces were exposed to the enemy's fire. Directly in front was a section of a battery which Martin several times silenced but which had an aggravating way of coming into action again and making it extremely uncomfortable for us. The First, Sixth and Seventh were formed in line of squadron columns, the Fifth a little to the rear as a reserve and support. A strong line of mounted skirmishers held the front. The left was thrown somewhat forward, menacing the confederate right.

Soon after the formation was complete and probably not far from eleven o'clock, General Merritt with his staff came along inspecting the line, and halting near Martin's battery, he expressed the most hearty approval of the dispositions that had been made. While he was still talking, a round shot from one of the enemy's guns ricochetted and nearly struck his horse. He was very cool and gave his view of the situation in a few encouraging words.

"The enemy," said he, "is almost as much surprised as we are and does not know what to make of his morning's work and in my opinion, does not intend to press his advantage, but will retreat as soon as a vigorous assault is made upon his line."

These are, I am sure, almost the precise words uttered to me by General Merritt before Sheridan came up. At least, if he was with the army at the time, certainly General Merritt did not know it. They show what was the feeling in that portion of the army which was not surprised, and which did not fail, from the moment when the first shot was fired in the early morning, to the last charge at dusk, to keep its face to the foe. General Merritt also suggested, though he did not order it, that I send a regiment to feel of the confederate right flank. He had an impression that it might be turned. The Seventh Michigan was sent with instructions to pass by the rear to the left, thence to the front, and attempt to get beyond the flank of the enemy, and, if successful, to attack. After an absence of about an hour, it returned and the commanding officer reported that he found a line of infantry as far as he deemed it prudent to go. The force in front of the cavalry was Wharton's (Breckinridge's) corps, reinforced by one brigade of Kershaw's division. Early's fear of being flanked by the union cavalry caused him to strengthen and prolong his right. Rosser's cavalry, for some reason, did not put in an appearance after the dash in the morning.

There was a lull. After the lapse of so many years, it would be idle to try to recall the hours, where they went and how they sped. There was no thought of retreat, slight fear of being attacked. All were wondering what would be done, when cheering and a great commotion arose toward the right. "Sheridan has come; Sheridan has come; and there is to be an advance all along the line," sped from right to left, as if an electric battery had sent the message, so quickly did it fly.

Sheridan did not pass to the left of the pike where the cavalry was, but dashed along in front of the infantry for the purpose of letting the army know that he was there and give it the inspiration of his presence. History puts in his mouth the words: "It is all right, boys; we will whip them yet; we will sleep in our old camps tonight." I was not near enough to hear and do not pretend to quote from personal knowledge, but whatever may have been his exact words, the enthusiasm which they aroused was unmistakable. The answer was a shout that sent a thrill across the valley and whose ominous meaning must have filled the hearts of the confederates with misgivings. This was the first intimation we had that Sheridan was on the ground, though he says in his memoirs, that it was then after midday and that he had been up about two hours.

But the Sixth corps needed no encouragement. Nobly had it done its duty during the entire progress of the battle. Sheridan and his staff, therefore, busied themselves reforming and posting the Nineteenth corps and strengthening the right where Custer was to be given the post of honor in the grand flanking movement about to begin.

An ominous silence succeeded. Even the batteries were still. It was the calm that precedes the storm. To those on the left, it seemed that the dispositions were a long time in making. When one has his courage screwed to the sticking point, the more quickly he can plunge in and have it over the better. The suspense was terrible.

The Michigan brigade had ample time to survey the field in its front. First, the ground descended abruptly into a broad ravine, or depression, through which ran a small creek. Beyond the top of the opposite ascent was a wide plateau of rather level ground, then another ravine and a dry ditch; then a rise and another depression, from which the ground sloped up to a belt of timber stretching clear across the front, almost to the pike. In the edge of the timber was the enemy's main line of battle, behind piles of rails and logs. Half way down the slope was a strong skirmish line along a rail fence. Behind the fence, on a knoll, was the battery, which had annoyed us so much. The brigade was formed with the First Michigan on the right, the Seventh on the left, the Sixth and Fifth in the center, in the order named. Each regiment was in column of battalions, making three lines of two ranks each. Martin's battery was to continue firing until the cavalry came into the line of fire.

At length, the expected order came. The bugles sounded, "Forward." Simultaneously, from the right to the left the movement began. At first, slowly, then faster. It was a glorious sight to see that magnificent line sweeping onward in the charge. Far, far away to the right it was visible. There were no reserves, no plans for retreat, only one grand, absorbing thought—to drive them back and retake the camps. Heavens, what a din! All along the confederate line, the cannon volleyed and thundered. The union artillery replied. The roll of musketry became incessant. The cavalry crossed the first ravine and moving over the level plateau, came into a raking fire of artillery and musketry. Pressing on, they crossed the second ravine and ditch. The slope was reached and, charging up to the rail fence, the first line of hostile infantry fell back. But the cavalry had gone too fast for the infantry. Sheridan says faster than he intended, for his intention was to swing his right wing and drive the enemy across the pike into the arms of the left wing on the east side; the too swift advance of the First cavalry division frustrated the plan. The brigade next to the pike, exposed to a galling crossfire, wavered and slowly retired. The entire line then gave way and retreated rapidly, but in good order, to the first ravine, where it halted and reformed. In a short time the charge was again sounded. This time the fence was reached. The right of the Sixth Michigan was directly in front of the battery, as was also the First Michigan. General Merritt, who was riding by the side of Major Deane, said: "Major, we want those guns." "All right, we will get them," gallantly responded the major, and through and over the fence rode the brave cavalrymen. The First Michigan made a dash for the battery, but it was not ours this time for, seeing that the Sixth corps had received a temporary check, the cavalry once more fell back to the nearest ravine, and whirling into line, without orders, was ready instantly for the last supreme effort, which was not long delayed. The charge was sounded. The infantry responded with a shout. This time the cavalry pressed right on up the slope. The enemy did not stand to meet the determined assault but gave way in disorder. The line pushed into the woods and then it was every regiment for itself. The First, under Major Duggan, charged toward the pike, but Devin, being nearer reached the bridge first. The Seventh, under Lieutenant Colonel Briggs, charging through a field, captured, seemingly, more prisoners than it had men. The Sixth, under Major Deane, who knew the country well, did not pause until it reached Buckton's Ford, on the Shenandoah river, returning late at night with many prisoners and a battle flag for which Private Ulric Crocker, of Troop "M," received one of the medals awarded by act of congress. The Fifth, under Major Hastings, charged down a road leading to one of the fords of the Shenandoah, Major Philip Mothersill, with one battalion, going so far that he did not rejoin the command till the next day.[41]

Thus ended the battle of Cedar Creek. Darkness, alone, saved Early's army from capture. As it was, most of his artillery and wagons were taken.

It is needless to tell how Sheridan broke Early's left by an assault with the Nineteenth corps and Custer's cavalry at the same moment of the last successful charge upon his right. It was a famous victory, though not a bloodless one. Of the gallant men who went into the fight that morning on the union side, 588 never came out alive. Three thousand five hundred and sixteen were wounded. Early did not lose so many but his prestige was gone, his army destroyed and, from that moment, for the confederacy to continue the hopeless struggle was criminal folly.

Cedar Creek was the ending of the campaign in the Shenandoah valley. There was some desultory skirmishing, but no real fighting thereafter.

Among the wounded were Captain Charles Shier, jr. and Captain Darius G. Maynard, both of the First Michigan cavalry. Captain Shier died on the 31st of October. He was wounded in the charge on the confederate battery. Captain Shier was as gallant an officer as any who periled his life on that famous battle field; and not only a fine soldier but a polished scholar and an accomplished gentleman as well. He was a distinguished son of the state of Michigan and of the noble university which bears its name. In his life and in his death he honored both. Massachusetts remembers the name and reveres the memory of Charles Lowell. Mothers recite to their children the circumstances of his heroic death, and in the halls of Harvard a tablet has been placed in his honor. Charles Shier is a name which ought to be as proudly remembered in Michigan and in Ann Arbor as is that of Charles Lowell in Massachusetts and in Cambridge. But fate, in its irony, has decreed that the nimbus which surrounds the brow of a nation's heroes shall be reserved for the few whom she selects as types, and these more often than otherwise idealized types chosen by chance or by accident. These alone may wear the laurel that catches the eye of ideality and furnishes the theme for the poet's praise. Others must be content to shine in reflected light or to be forgotten. The best way is to follow William Winter's advice and neither crave admiration nor expect gratitude. After all, the best reward that can come to a man is that intimate knowledge of himself which is the sure foundation of self-respect. The adulation of the people is a fugitive dream, as Admiral Dewey knows now, if he did not suspect it before.

In the original manuscript of the foregoing chapter, written in the year 1886, Lowell was represented as marching "without orders" from right to left with his own brigade and the Michigan brigade. In the text the words "without orders" have been omitted. This is not because my own recollection of the events of that day is not the same now as then, but for the reason that I am reluctant to invite controversy by giving as statements of fact things that rest upon the evidence of my own unsupported memory.

After the manuscript had been prepared, it was referred to General Merritt with a request that he point out any errors or inaccuracies that he might note, as it was intended for publication. This request elicited the following reply:

General Merritt in his letter omits one clause in his quotation from his report written at the time which seems to me to have an important bearing upon this question. The clause is as follows:

Or to quote the passage in its entirety:

devin

THOMAS C. DEVIN

The rule about moving toward the sound of battle is succinctly stated by General Merritt in his letter and does not admit of controversy. But I may in all fairness call attention to the conditions that existed at the time when it was asserted that Colonel Lowell took the responsibility to move his brigade from the picket line to the rear, if not to the left, and order the First brigade to follow. The division line of battle of which the three brigades had been a part had been broken up. There was no division line of battle. The First brigade had been ordered to reinforce its picket line. The Reserve brigade which on the night before received the order to make a reconnoissance in the morning was held to support the First brigade and had "advanced as far as the picket line." Devin's brigade had been ordered to the valley pike to hold it and "deploy men to prevent fugitives going to the rear." May it not then be said with truth that he was "distant and detached" and "without orders that contemplate the contingency?" The enemy that attacked "feebly" had disappeared. There was in sight no picket line either of the enemy's or of our own. There was visible no line of skirmishers or of battle. The "fighting on the left of our army as shown by the artillery fire" was not only "heavy," as described by General Merritt, but indicated clearly by the sound that the army was falling back. Lowell's movement was under the circumstances entirely justifiable. That he moved from the picket line to the rear voluntarily, and that he took the responsibility to order the Michigan brigade to follow, is as certain as that when the moon passes between the earth and the sun it causes an eclipse.

The march from the picket line to the pike was continuous. There was no halting for formations of any kind. It is quite possible, however, that the staff officer who conveyed the order from General Merritt found Lowell in motion in the right direction and delivered the order to him to cover the movement of both brigades. I do not remember receiving any order except the one from Lowell until after reaching the pike.

One more point and this subject, which has been given more space perhaps than it ought to, will be left to the reader. General Merritt's report takes up the matter of arranging the division line of battle with the formation at "about ten o'clock," with the Second brigade on the right, next to the pike, the Reserve brigade in the center, and the First brigade on the left. That was some time after the arrival of the two brigades. The first position taken by the First brigade was next the pike in rear of Lowell and Devin. Martin's battery was posted originally close to the pike and it was while there that my horse was shot. I still believe that it was not much after nine o'clock when we first formed on the left of Getty's division. The subsequent rearrangement of the line is referred to in the text and was exactly as described in General Merritt's report.

The following table of killed and wounded in the Michigan cavalry brigade in the Shenandoah Valley campaign is compiled from the official records in the office of the adjutant general of Michigan:

Recapitulation—Killed and died of wounds, Shenandoah Valley:

The following table of killed and wounded in the First cavalry division in the battle of Cedar Creek is taken from the official war records:[42]

It is thus seen that the First brigade lost in killed and wounded within two of as many as both the other brigades—almost fifty per cent of the entire losses of the division.

Custer's division of two brigades lost 2 killed and 24 wounded.

Powell's division of two brigades lost 1 killed, 8 wounded.

In other words, while the entire of the Second and Third divisions—four brigades—lost but 35 killed and wounded, the Michigan brigade alone lost 53 in this battle. Thirty-four per cent of the entire losses killed and wounded in the cavalry corps were in this one brigade.[43]

These figures give point to the statement of General Merritt in a communication to the adjutant general of the First cavalry division, dated November 4, 1864, that the list of killed and wounded in a battle is presumptive evidence of the degree and kind of service performed.[44] General Merritt also gives the Michigan brigade credit for "overwhelming a battery, and its supports," in other words capturing the battery.